


Almost

by birbmemes



Category: Almost Maine - John Cariani
Genre: Character Study, F/F, also i wrote in second person get wrecked, heh its just gay projecting. jokes on you.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 11:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14519055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birbmemes/pseuds/birbmemes
Summary: It takes a while. Y'know, to realize you're- y'know. (You can't quite say it yet.)





	Almost

**Author's Note:**

> The only person who edited or proofread this is me, so sorry for any typos. Get ready for hyper gay projection.

It’s a gray, chilly day in Almost. You’re sitting on your bed with you dog, in the room you share with your sister. It’s warm in there, what with the dog and the sweaters. You’re trying to do your first math assignment of the semester— freshmen year it’s ok to fail a few quarters, but you gotta pass this whole year, now that you’re a sophomore— when someone barges in and sits right down next to you.

“Hey Shell,” he says. 

“Hey Will,” you say back. He’s your older brother, halfway through his senior year. 

“Wanna go partying with me tonight?” He asks. You turn and look at him. He smiles at you, in a way that’s mostly fun older brother but also suggests he has an agenda. 

“Why?” You ask.

“Cause you’re old now! You gotta party! Also I want a sober ride home.” 

You just look at him and shake your head. “Fine.” You say. Anything beats Geometry, right? 

——

Your car grumbles as Will shifts it into park. You survey the scene before you open up your door. It’s dark, about eight o’clock. You’re outside of Almost by about twenty miles, in the town where your high school is. You don’t know the kid whose party this is, but he knows your brother. His house is decently sized, with trees around it and a long driveway packed with cars. You can hear shouting and music from where you are at the very end of the driveway. Light spills out of windows onto the frosty grass. You open up your door and head to the house. 

When you open the door, the first thing to hit you is the noise. It’s incredibly loud. The second is how little clothing is evening worn. Despite the weather (there’s snow outside!) People are wearing shorts, t-shirts, very small dresses. You feel overdressed in your jeans and hoodie

You turn to look for Will, but he has already disappears into the undulating crowd. You decide that the least uncomfortable course of action is to go find a chair and try to look like you don’t wanna talk. 

That fails. Despite the aura you think you’ve put out, a girl you recognize from Geometry plops down on the sofa next to you almost immediately. 

“Hey Shelly!” She says. 

“Hey.” You say back. You think her name is Addie, but you could be wrong, and that would be awkward. Your considerable social skills and tendency to talk left as soon as you stepped through the door.

“Are you here with anyone?” She asks, swilling whatever she has to drink. 

“Uh, my brothers here, but I think he only brought me so he would have someone to drag him home, so I don’t know…” 

She laughs. “Oh Shell, that’s real cute. I gotta find Jo now. Take care!” And with that, she gets up and sashays away, presumably to find Jo.

You have a few minutes of blissful alone time on the couch before the next visitor plops down. This time, it’s a boy you recognize as a year above you, though he generally has both shoes on when you see him. Now, he appears to have lost one somewhere. 

He sighs. “Man, Jo is so pretty.” 

You don’t think he’s talking to you, but just to be on the safe side, you nod. 

He continues. “It’s just… her hair’s so…. shiny, y’know? Like… BAM. Flip. Shiny. And her boobs look so good.” 

You nod again, increasingly uncomfortable with this half-shod man. Uncomfortable, maybe, with where his observations are taking your own mind. Because man, Jo does have shiny hair, and now you're kinda wondering if it feels as soft as it looks, and she does have good looking-

Nope. That’s something one girl probably shouldn’t think about another. Unless they’re best friends? Girl etiquette is confusing to you. Man, this party sucks. Shoe man appears to have slid off the couch by now, which is both a blessing and a curse. 

Armed now with the knowledge that no party couch stays empty for long, you wait for the next kid to drop in. 

But, for quite a long time, no one does. And you find yourself unable to put out of you mind what you thought with Jo. You find yourself repeating that thought cycle with other girls. 

A girl will walk by. You’ll see her and think wow. You’ll catch yourself looking at her cleavage or her butt and you’ll have to drag your eyes back up towards her face, or better yet, the ceiling.

So maybe you like to look at boobs. That’s normal. Lots of women look at boobs! And it’s a party, and you’re bored almost out of your wits. This is normal.

You don’t feel good. You wanna go home. You push through the crowds till you find Will in the kitchen, wasted and apparently having a great time. You glower at him and tell him you wanna leave. He argues with you, but you win. He tells the crowd he was entertaining not to miss him too much, and they laugh. You don’t. You pull him to the car and drive a little faster than necessary. You wanna go to sleep. 

——

You dream about soft, shiny, hair. It slides through your hands like water. Maybe sleep wasn’t the best idea after all.

——

Those weird dreams (skin and hair, very soft) continue. You’re unsettled, but hey! You can’t very well control what you dream about (soft, round bodies touching yours) and this is probably nothing. It’s not that bad, yet. You’re fine. (You kissed once, in a dream. It was nicer than you’d like to admit)  
——

You’ve almost back to normal about the whole boobs thing. You think you are, at least.

Then one day, in what will stick out in your mind as one of your worst days, it goes to shit. For you, at least. 

You’re talking to Addie (that was her name, you were right) in Geometry. She’s actually pretty nice, if a bit preppy, and you’re carrying on a good conversation about the game you were both at last night. Then, out of nowhere, she says “Is there something on my shirt? You’re kinda looking at my boobs.”

You probably were, but at that time, all rational thought was replaced by sheer panic. You’d been found out. People would know how weird you truly were.

Then. You realize. 

There is something on her shirt.

“Yeah! I mean, there is something on her shirt!? There.” You say and point to the fluff on her boob. You have been saved. You thank every power you know that you were just a concerned friend. You’re just a good friend. 

Though, in your mind, you know you’re lying. But the smarter, higher thinking part of your mind crushes that, so you can justifiably tell yourself that there’s nothing significant about the amount of time spent with your eyes chasing girls.

———

You get a job that summer, working at the lumber mill. You hang out with the hockey team, but only ever in groups. You make careful above the neck eye contact with other girls. You get this thing under control. A gross, dark feeling starts in your stomach. You ignore it.

——

You’ve worked your way through the summer simply forgetting, or at least pushing out of your mind, what you dream about. But as the school year starts and they get more frequent and more… intimate, you realize you’ll be forced to find another approach.

When you don’t wanna think about something, it usually just comes pushing out of your mouth, and can them be abandoned. But not this. You can’t say something like this. Not here, not now. So you find a different strategy. You’ll just get busy! You can’t think about those weird feelings if you’re thinking about not getting you finger crushed in the wood press.

And it works. You throw yourself into work, into school, and, once it starts, into hockey. You get there before the other girls and stay long after, avoiding any possible changing room encounters. Your coach praises you for taking this so seriously, and your enthusiasm spreads out to the other girls. The team is doing better than ever. When you aren’t practicing, you work, picking up extra shifts, getting a little extra dough. It makes your parents happy, at least. Your grades pull from barely decent to almost good, which really please your little sister. She offers to tutor you, if you ever get confused. You tell her hell no, she’s a freshman. But you’re busy. You’re busy with all this, and while you're awake, you can usually manage to push any gay thoughts out. 

But you can’t control what goes on while you're asleep. Every night, you go to sleep worried, and most mornings you wake up with a brain full of girls. It’s awful. But, you think, if this is all, at least no one will know. And hey! You’re sure lots of people have weird dreams. It doesn’t make you… queer. You’re fine.

——

You are fine, until that goddamn party. You should have known better than to go, in retrospect. You didn’t even want to, but Rhonda, one of the hockey gals, ropes you into it. You like Rhonda. She plays forward, and plays it aggressively. She's honest too, and funny, if a bit hot headed. To quote your dad, “She’s a real upstanding gal”. You’ve been worried, getting closer to her, worried you might get weird gay feelings again, but so far so good. She’s a good friend, you’re a good friend, that’s it.

Arriving reminds you of that first party, back in sophomore year. It was almost exactly a year ago, and was most definitely exhausting. You feel gross already. Rhonda pulls you over to the drink table, presses a soda pop into your hands. “C'mon,” she says. “A bunch of us are gonna meet up and play some dumb party game in the tv room.” 

And with that, she grabs your arm and pulls you back. 

——

“Okay, so, truth or dare?” Asks one of the other girls back there. 

“Truth.” Rhonda answers. You notice, but barely. Your currently concentrating on staring at the wall directly above the TV, and are resolutely not looking at any of the girls back here with you. 

“Ok,” says the cheerleader type. “Who do you have a crush on?” 

“Um,” says Rhonda. “What’s the cheat option?” 

“If you don’t wanna answer, you can take of an article of clothing.” The cheerleader answers. 

“Uhhhmmmmm,” Rhonda says. “Yeah.” You risk a glance over at her. She’s caught in the process of removing her sweater. It’s endearing, and you look away.

“Hey, Shell,” she says. 

“Yeah?” You say back. 

“Truth or dare.” She says.

Oh boy. Oh boy. Truth or dare? Truth always has the option of lying, but she’d know. But dare generally ends up being weird, and if you refuse, you have to take off your clothes. But you have a sweater on. That’s gotta be it. 

“Dare,” you say back. 

“Uh…. I dare you to get me the chip bag from the main room.” 

Thank God, you think to yourself. You have yourself up, pick your way around the clothes as limbs on the floor, and grab the chip bag.

You dare some girl you don’t really know, tell her to go grab the hosts toothbrush and toilet it. She truths the next girl. You’re managing. You’re fine. 

Then, out of nowhere, you hear “I dare you to smooch someone in here.” There's the typical squealing that comes with any mention of kissing, and you zone the fuck back in. Your pulse shoots up, and you look around to see who got the dare. If the amount of blushing is any indication, it’s the girl across from you. You don’t know her well. She’s doesn’t live in Almost, but you recognize her from school. You’ve been staring at her for too long now, but before you can look away, she looks right back at you. She’s already missing her sweater and her socks. Not a good sign. You just keep staring at her, like a deer caught in headlights. 

You fear death.

“Ok.” She says, but not to you. The gasping and squeaking intensifies, and you still look like a fish out of water. She scooches towards you. 

“MOVE,” your brain yells helpfully.

“uhhhghgf,” your body replies.

She’s getting closer, and closer. You can see the freckles and acne on her nose. She’s even closer now. You’re panicking. 

If you could’ve looked at Rhonda, you would’ve noticed how she watched you critically, a trace of something- worry? On her face.

But there’s a more important face, with eyes screwed closed only inches away from yours, and maybes it’s the party, maybe it’s the proximity to a girl, but you feel hot enough to cook and egg on your face.

Then, all the sudden, she surges forward and bumps her lips against yours. Your freeze is broken, and you scramble up and out, ignoring that you probably shouldn’t drive, ignoring Rhonda shouting your name. You grab beer, cause this situation needs more alcohol, and you run out of the house and out to your car. In a stroke of brilliance, you drive to Rhonda’s house, where she won’t think to look for a little while, and put the car in park. You open your beer and start drinking.

 

——

Of course, Rhonda finds you in the morning.  
She knocks on the window and wakes you up. Your head is pounding, your eyes are sticky, and your whole car stinks. She opens her mouth, but before she can shout, you unlock the door. She slides into the passenger seat, wrinkling her nose and she pushes beer can of the passenger seat. “Jeezum crow, Michelle, how much did you drink?”

“Don’t full name me, Rhonda.” You reply. “And I don’t know, a few? My head hurts like shit.” 

“Yeah, I bet.”she says, with very little sympathy. 

You know what this conversation is about, and she does too. But you don’t wanna talk about it. At all.

So you sit there, feeling like garbage physically and emotionally. If Rhonda wants to get into this gross feeling that’s been building for weeks (months?) in your head and your heart and your gut, she’s gonna have to dig. 

“What was that last night?” She asks. Her voice is gentler than it might usually be. 

“What was what.” 

“You know what.”

“I don’t know what.”

“Shell, you know what I mean. Don’t be a dick.”

You sigh. You can feel tears behind your eyes. At this point, they’ll probably come out with an alcohol content.

“Shell.” Rhonda’s voice is really soft. “Are you ok?”

You sniffle and shrug in response. 

“Shelly, I know you. You’re not afraid of much. I mean, you’re not even afraid of moose.” That pulls a giggle out of you. “So why are you afraid of girls?”

“What?” You ask. This is taking a different path than you thought it might. 

Rhonda looks at your eyes. You look at the gas gauge. She says “I’ve known you for what, half a year? And you got no problem driving at night, or playing hockey, or watching Saw, but I’ve never seen you in the locker room, and the only girls I’ve ever seen you closer than a foot to is your sister. And I’m pretty sure you were hitting her.” she continues, “And last night, before Ginger kissed you, you looked terrified.” 

You can still deflect. “Ginger was her name?” You ask.

“Yeah.” Rhonda says. “But that’s not the point. Why, is the point. Why’re you so scared all the time?”

“Well,” you start. “Why are you so afraid of talkin’ to boys?”

She just looks at you. She’s gonna make you say it. You bite your cheek. Why the hell not? If anything bad happens, you can…. well, you might not be able to take Rhonda in a fight, but it is your car.

“I… I’m…” You start. Rhonda just watches you. “I like girls. I’m queer.” It’s a good thing you’re sitting down, cause you’re shaking so hard you’d fall over otherwise. This is about as terrifying as you thought it would be. And she didn’t even make you get into the fear and the nausea, the shame, the grossness in your heart.

“Yeah.” Says Rhonda. “I thought maybe.”

“What do you mean?” You say, with some feeling behind it. “I tell you I’m a- queer, I’m a fucking- dyke, and all you say is ‘yeah I thought so?’” 

Rhonda glares at you, just a little. “ I mean, it’s kinda obvious,” she says. 

“What? It is?” You manage. The fact that she isn’t trying to get out as fast as she can or punch your lights out is really throwing you for a loop. “Why aren’t you, like, punching me or some shit?”

Now Rhonda just looks confused. “I’m your friend, dummy. I’m not gonna punch you just cause you like girls. Why, you want me to punch you?”

You wince. “Well, no. I just thought….-“

“Geez Shell, how low do you think of me?” 

You shrug, and don’t reply, and it’s not cause you’re crying or anything. The grossness in your heart starts to leave, a little bit. 

“Hey.” Rhonda soothes. She reaches over to hug you, but doesn’t quite. She pulls back and instead just pats your shoulder. She pulls a napkin off of the floor of your car.

You blown your nose and get yourself under control.

“What did people say after I left?” Your voice quakes as you ask. 

“Not much,” Rhonda says quickly. “I told them you’re just a real emotional drunk and you just freaked out about people being so close to you. I think they bought it.” You sigh and close your eyes. You want some Advil. And your own damn bed.

As if she can read your mind, Rhonda says “Hey, Shell, let’s get you home. I’ll drive.” You’re too emotionally drained to protect your car, so you move slowly out of the car and around to the other side. 

“What’ll I tell my parents?” You groan out. 

“Tell ‘em you slept here. You did, pretty much.” You nod. It’s only a couples minutes drive, and you’re home soon. Before you get outta the car, you turn to look at Rhonda.

“No one can know about this, ok?” You try to impart and much seriousness as you can into your voice.

She nods, mirroring your tone “Of course.” You both get out of the car. She walks to the end of the driveway, ready to hike her way home. Before she leaves, she turns around.

“Hey Shell?” 

“Yeah?” you say back

“You’ll be ok.”

You nod, and head into your house.


End file.
